Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek
by Pen Name FTW
Summary: Ophelia Myers finds herself trapped in the Room of Requirement with Severus Snape. AU, in which Snape has survived the war.
1. The Room of Requirement

**Disclaimer: **World of Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling. Part of "The If You Dare Challenge (Continued)". I chose to go with the Grey level.

**A/n:** This story is clearly AU (Snape's survived the Battle of Hogwarts) and it's kind of a parody. It's the journal of a fanfiction writer who's been dropped into the world of Harry Potter, but please, don't runaway. I promise to make this different from other stories like this that you may have come across. Also there might be "journal entries" that are stories for other fandoms. However, if there is not interest in this story I probably won't continue it. If there is warning, fair warning, this will be a slow burner, like most my stories.

**_Prompt:_**_Computers_

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 1:**_

_**The Room of Requirement**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day One **

So if you're reading this, I can only guess that you, like I, suffer from a common ailment of Geek-ism. Yes capital G, because Geekiness is close to Godliness. At least in my book. Which if you are reading this, you _are_ in my book. My fanfiction journal, to be exact, which isn't very nice you know. It isn't nice to read other people's journals. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?

However, I forgive you. Because we geeks must stick together.

Now, following that you are indeed a geek, than like all geeks, you must be familiar with the person-from-our-world-falls-into-a-fictional-world plotline. From my deductions, that is exactly what has occurred to me which unfortunately makes me a sue (oh, how lowly I have fallen). However, I shall endeavor to be as un-sue-ish as possible.

Granted we've started on the wrong foot, since I very much believe that I am in the Harry Potter world. However, considering I'm a twenty-two year old with no useful skill-set, while not attending school or having even a part-time job... I think I'm slightly breaking the mold.

Now you might ask why I believe that I'm the Harry Potter world, and my deductions are as follows:

-For the most part, I'm a very sane person therefore do not suffer delusions.

-My dreams are never vivid. I can never control my own actions. I'm rarely cognizant about whether or not I'm dreaming. Furthermore my dreams are completely bizarre. (ie. I once dreamt that cherry Twizzlers were the cure for zombie-ism and I went around feeding zombies from a Twizzlers rope that was as thick as a lamp post and much longer. It took a whole troop of people to help me carry it. And I don't even like Twizzlers. Also in this dream, vacant lots were actually fields of Twizzlers.)

So as Sherlock Holmes would put it "when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, _however improbable_, is the truth". Which must mean that I am in the Harry Potter world. Though, I have no clue how I even came to be here or why.

All I know is that I woke up in a very large foster bed not my own and in my pajamas (which consist of a pair of boxer shorts and a fitted t-shirt).

I'm in a room, a very vast one, with no doors and the only windows seems to be very high that they are impossible to reach. It is furnished with a four poster bed, a sitting area, a fireplace, a table with two chairs and a couple of bookshelves.

The no door thing is a bit alarming, as is the fact that I'm in a world that I thought to be merely fictional (even if I wished it were real). However, at least I'm not alone.

There is a portrait hanging above the fireplace and I can guess who that might just be. His half-moon spectacles and twinkling blue eyes (they really _do_ twinkle!) are a dead give away, as is the long silvery beard and hair. He's been very friendly thus far, very kind, which almost makes you forget that he manipulated two people the majority of their lives.

Unfortunately the other occupant isn't so nice. By the dour expression on his face, the fact that his covered in black from head to toe, and has a hooked nose, I can very easily guess who he is. And he is no Alan Rickman (though I suppose he's still my favorite character. Not sure if meeting him in person will change my opinion of him.)

More later. As he-who-is-forever-bitter is now glaring at me. Sheesh, I'm the one that should be mad. After all, he woke me and non too gently either.

**Day One (Later)**

I took a nap after much argument with Snape over our present circumstances (ie. Being trapped in this damn room. Master-spy over here doesn't seem to have his wand so therefore we can't blast our way out and being as I'm non-magical I can't help the situation at all). Although, Snape did most of the arguing. I mostly just tried to tune him out while yawning, which only served to make him angrier.

Hey, I can't be blamed for the yawning. I'm a night owl, being awake at eight in the morning is not something that I'm used to. I tend to go to sleep as the sun's about to rise and wake at the crack of three p.m.

Besides, being woken by a unknown man without any recollection of what has happened to me to land me in this situation is surely not pleasant. Especially not when you wake up in a bed that is not yours. I screamed so loudly I thought I'd shatter the windows, or at the very least his ear drums. My heart beat so hard I thought I was going to die.

Anyway, after waking from my nap I found that there was lunch on the table. Snape says it turned up out of nowhere, which is why I guess that we are in the room of Requirement which has set my mind slightly at ease. I mean... at least now we know we won't starve to death and theoretically, anything we might need the room will provide for us. Except a door out of the room, Snape tried that one and it hadn't worked.

Unfortunately I'm bored to death and Snape isn't much of a prison companion. He spends most of the time pacing in front of the fireplace and arguing with Dumbledore. Neither of whom have figured out that I'm a muggle and don't belong to their world. I think they are under the impression that I'm a squib and I'm not in any rush to correct them. Just the thought of all the explaining I'd have to do makes me feel exhausted.

I've tried to read, but Snape's voice can get rather loud when he starts getting aggravated with the portrait. I did, however, get the opportunity to explore the room. Unfortunately there was really nothing of interest to find other than the books.

I sure hope that a door appears before I have to use the washroom.

**Day One (Even Later)**

A door has appeared. Fortunately, or unfortunately (according to Snape), it leads to a large bathroom with a shower stall separate from a very large tub, a toilet and a mirror with a sink and a large counter. Yay for me, since I really had to pee.

Also, I've been thinking and I've come to the conclusion that I must be in the timeline around Deathly Hallows, since Dumbledore is a portrait.

My hand is cramping. I'm so not used to writing with pen and paper anymore. Damn computers. I miss my laptop.

**Day Two (Early Morning Hours, I'd say About 2 a.m.)**

Snape refuses to sleep in the bed, even if I'm not presently occupying it. Doesn't seem to understand that I'm not in the least sleepy. Either that, or he thinks I'm going to attempt to kill him in his sleep. What a paranoid weirdo.

Also, I've discovered that reading by firelight is somewhat difficult. As is writing by firelight.

**Day Two (Sometime after lunch)**

I went to sleep at about, I'm gonna say four. Just woke up to eat lunch. Snape appears to be sleeping rather uncomfortably on the large chesterfield in front of the fireplace which is presently out.

Am bored out of my mind.

I'm really starting to really, _really_ miss my laptop. I could be reading so much fanfiction right now.

Sigh, I suppose I should take the opportunity to read some, while Snape is knocked out and not arguing with Dumbledore.

**Day Two (Still)**

Snape woke up a while ago. He is still being his unsociable self but at least he is no longer arguing with anyone. Like me, he has chosen to pick up a book and read. I'm not sure what he's reading, but I've found a pleasant conglomeration of muggle literature on the shelves.

Presently I've decided to read Agatha Christie's_ After the Funeral_. I should get back to that, I expect will be eating dinner sometime soon.

**Day Two (Late Evening)**

Dinner was shortly after my last entry. Snape and I ate at the table across from each other. The table is big enough for four, but with all the platters of food provided, it feels too small. Dinner, like yesterday, was a very quiet and awkward affair. It really can't be over soon enough as it's the only meal we eat together.

After dinner, I tried to take a shower. But the shower and bathtub's taps all run by magic and as Snape has no wand, this presented a bit of a problem. Also there are no towels and I have no clean clothes for me to change into.

So after walking into the bathroom, I had to walk back out and approach Snape with this dilemma.

For some unknown reason to me, this made Snape blush (rather unflatteringly), which of course only served to make the situation all the more awkward. Luckily, Snape is a master of controlling himself so he was able to sort it all out and shove whatever had flustered him out of his mind.

By the time we walked back into the shower, though, there was a towel rack with what looked (and smelled) like freshly laundered, fluffy, white towels. And the taps had all turned into regular taps, also there was no a laundry basket which, according to Snape, should make automatically transport clothes put inside it to the House Elves.

To test this theory and make sure it was in fact true, I placed my highly colorful socks inside. Just as he said he would, they were zapped out of site as soon as they touched the bottom of the laundry basket. Which was somewhat concerning as I wasn't sure if I would be getting them back any time soon.

I set my shorts, t-shirt and bra aside and after much debate inside my head, decided to put my panties in the laundry basket. I was fairly confident that my going commando would go unnoticed, especially if I made sure to sit in a lady-like manner at all times. Besides it gave me the willies thinking about putting on dirty underwear again after showering.

Being as there was no shampoo or conditioner in the shower, I tried up my hair with one of the many trusty hair ties I keep on my wrist at all times, and showered without washing my hair. After which I changed back into my old clothes lamenting the fact that I had no deodorant, body spray or lotion.

Much to my annoyance, there was a wardrobe now set up on the left side of the bed in which I found some several sets of robes (both male and females), several sets of boxer shorts, socks, and panties.

Picking white cotton panties, and a light silvery set of robes with long sleeves that looked like it might fit me and looked to be made of silk, I marched back into the bathroom and slipped them on. The robes didn't quite fit my body perfectly as they were a bit loose in general, and they fell to my ankles, which was a bit annoying. I was never really the type of girl that wore dresses or skirts often, but when I did, the longest I ever wore them was usually to the knees. I had only ever had two sets of skirts the fell to my ankles, at least when I picked out my own clothes. I can't account for the years that my mother used me as her personal dress up doll.

I didn't put my t-shirt and boxer shorts in the laundry basket, as they appeared to be the only set of muggles clothes I'd get to have. And what, didn't witches wear bras? I guessed they didn't and that was why I hadn't been provided with any. Considering that since the time I started using bras when I was eleven or twelve I never took them off even to sleep (showers being the only exception), not being provided one now that I was being held captive by this stupid room, was more than a little annoying.

As soon as I stepped out of the bathroom a second time, this time in the set of robes the room had provided, Snape looked up.

"You do know that those are for sleep, don't you?" he commented lazily and a bit ironically. Amazingly enough, this is the least rude thing he has said to me since I woke up in this room.

A part of me wanted to ask him, "how would you know what sleep wear for witches looks like?" A subject I'd be _very_ interested in delving into, but I value my life too much and have enough verbal control to stop myself from asking. Instead I said something like, "Well it's night, isn't it?"

And to my amazement, because honestly I thought he was ignoring my existence he said, "I was under the impression that you did not know that night was for sleeping. After all, you seem to go to sleep as the sun is about to rise."

**Day Three**

Sorry about the abrupt end to the last entry. My hand cramped and I couldn't go on, but there wasn't much more to say. That was pretty much the end of the conversation as I just gaped at him after he said that and he went back to reading.

I spent the rest of the night reading. Which got dull after a few hours.

God, you'd think being in another world would be much more fascinating. Thus far it's only been annoying and boring.

I suppose its because I'm stuck with Snape in this room with nothing else to do but read and write and occasionally get into arguments when the man actually feels like opening his mouth.

I really want my computer!

**TBC...**

**A/n: **Well that is all for now. Please tell me your thoughts and if there is any point in my continuing this story.


	2. Fanfiction

_**Prompt:**__ Vague Misery_

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 2:**_

_**Fanfiction**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 4**

I suspect that Snape is showering in the morning, at some point between the time that I go to sleep and the time I get up. Or else he isn't showering at all, which is gross.

I haven't washed my hair yet, which is gross enough to me, but it has yet to turn greasy. Which is good because I really need to figure out this non shampoo/conditioner/deodorant/lotion situation. I may not be high maintenance, but these things are vital!

**Day 4 (After dinner)**

Have showered and washed my hair. My hygienic situation is now completely resolved, even the whole tooth brushing thing thanks to my muttering complaints during my shower.

I'm starting to think of the Room of Requirement as a living entity. Who is holding us captive.

I'm so bored. I'm tired of reading, and walking around in circles and trying to avoid getting on Snape's bad side. Which is impossible. I'm starting to believe that I was very much mistaken in thinking that he wasn't all "bad side".

Since I'm bored with nothing else to do, it is time to indulge in my muse.

~X~X~

(The following excerpt is a work of fanfiction. The characters of Scooby Doo are the works of Hanna-Barbera and inspired by Swept Away by The xx:

_The Moments We Share Always End to Soon.  
Part of You Stays A While, Even When You're Far Away._

They'd fallen through yet another trapdoor, and landed in a heap, Velma splayed on her back with Shaggy's length pressed over her, his weight maintained on his forearms. As she stared up at him through glasses knocked askew by the unexpected fall, she breathed in his exhalations.

A traitorous blush rose across her cheeks as she stared at the familiar, warm brown eyes.

They were far too close for comfort, but it was the furthest thing from either of their minds as time seem to stretch to eternity and filled with a thousands silences of things they could never bring themselves to say.

It was in these moments, when touches lingered and gazes locked for too long, that Velma allowed herself to believe that her feelings weren't so one-sided. That she thought that a relationship between them might work, despite their differences and that their getting together wouldn't necessarily bring about the doom of Mystery Ink.

And then Scooby, that lovable, overgrown Dane, barked and the moment was broken.

"Sorry Velma," Shaggy scrambled off her, moving away from her faster than if he were running away from the Black Knight or Indian Witch Doctor.

"No problem Shaggy," Velma stated as she climbed to her feet and adjusted her glasses, trying not to smile and ignored the simultaneous clench of her heart when she realized that his scent lingered on her orange sweater.)

**Day 4 (Night)**

Yes I write fanfiction. And yes I'm a Scooby Doo fan who ships Shaggy/Velma. But what can I say, hopeless relationships are romance and vague misery at their best.

**TBC...**


	3. It's A Pipe Bomb

**Prompt: **Glaciers (#1)

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 3:**_

_**It's A Pipe Bomb?**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 5**

I've finally had my first, real conversation with Snape. Not one that revolved around me needing his assistance for something or him snapping at me for something else. (It really shouldn't be surprising that it took a whole business week to get to this point, considering the man's nature. If this is supposed to be some kind of cosmic way of telling us we are supposed to interact, than I think we are moving at the pace of glaciers. The cosmos should be pleased.)

Anyway, here is what I can remember of it for the most part:

"What is it that you spend all day scribbling in that notebook?" he asked irately, snapping his book shut and looking over at me irritatedly at where I sat at the table looking over what I had written. As I was doing this I was obsessively clicking the Bic pen in my hand, which I can't express how grateful I am that I found next to this journal.

I think my chicken scratch writing would have been much more difficult to read if I had to write with a quill, not to mention the scratch of the quill on paper might have grated on my nerves like nails against chalkboard, or straps of velcro . (Yes velcro kind of annoys me to hear. I'm not sure why. And don't you judge me!)

Looking up, I recall blinking over at him owlishly and somewhat stupidly in surprise.

"Just... the events of the day to day, even though there isn't a whole lot to say about them," I said with a slight frown, mumbling the last bit. It wasn't a completely lie, but there was no way in hell I was telling Snape that I also wrote fanfiction in it. I couldn't even bring myself to tell close personal friends about it, afraid that they would tease me endlessly about it. The only people I could share my fanfiction with was complete, anonymous strangers on the net.

"Aren't you a little old to be keeping a diary?" he asked, raising a sleek brow and smirking over at me.

My mouth literally dropped open and a sputtered before saying, very loudly might I add, "It's not a diary!" (Yes, I had a Doug Funnie moment.)

After taking a moment to compose myself, I said in a much more reasonable level though still a bit indignantly, "And just how _old_ do you think I am?"

"I think only little girls keep a diary. You look about seventeen to me, which is too old for a diary," he responded. I might have gone cross-eyed at this were it not for the fact that I was used to being confused for someone much younger.

Being quite short (only about 5 foot 3), and being slender most of my life, not to mention having a young face (which probably wasn't helped by the fact that I didn't bother with any kind of make-up) I was often confused for being much younger than I was. It should probably be flattering, but when you're sixteen and told you look like a twelve-year-old when you want to be seen as more of an adult, it's very discouraging and annoying. Also, it makes you wonder a lot about the men who hit on you.

"I'm not seventeen," I stated in deadpan.

"I was rounding up-"

"I'm twenty-two," I corrected, waiting for the inevitable. Which was the exact blank look that Snape suddenly gave me.

"You don't look twenty-two," he said after a moment of thought, hit brow contracting marginally.

"I know!" I stated through tight lips.

After that, conversation kind of died away as we were both overtaken by an awkward silence and while I'm not as bad as Snape, I'm not much of a social butterfly either. So I couldn't find anything to say to really further conversation, specially not with a man who was more like a ticking time bomb.

**TBC...**

**A/n:** Cookie to you if you get the irrelevant, but amusing title reference.


	4. Of Homesick-less-ness

**Disclaimer: **This chapter is not meant to offend anyone. And if the chapter is a bit dark compared to the others, I apologize. It's a result of the crappy weekend I've just had.

**Prompt:** Blankly (#10)

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 4:**_

_**Of Homesick-less-ness, Or Of Not Being Homesick At All**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 6**

I suppose it was the fact that I was sitting on the couch, with the book in my lap being completely ignored, that stirred him from his reading. Or perhaps it was the blank, vacant expression on my face as I stared into the empty fireplace. Whatever it was, I had my second conversation with Snape today. Which involved a bit of talking, mainly on my part.

"You've been sitting there staring blankly at the hearth for an hour," was his choice of conversation starter.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, even as the comprehension of what I'd heard finally caught up with my mouth. Before he could repeat himself, though a scowl had made its way to his face already, I answered his question. "Oh, have I? I guess I'm just lost in my thoughts."

I turned back to once more get lost in my stare-a-thon of the hearth, when Snape snapped his book closed with a sigh of exasperation. "Would you care to share what is troubling you?"

The shock I felt at the fact that he was inviting conversation... well there are no words for it. Snape must've caught on easily though, as he quirked a brow at me. "It's setting me on edge, you sitting there simply staring," he explained. "Perhaps if you aired whatever is troubling you, you'd stop sitting there like you've slipped into catatonia and I can get on with my reading."

"It's just a dream I had, that's all," I explained. Before he could prompt me for more I was already explaining, though I turned away and used my hair for a buffer. A habit I've had since I was a teenager whenever I felt like hiding. I used my hair like a curtain to keep anyone from seeing too closely. Considering my hair was straight and inky black, not unlike Snape's (without the grease), and at the time reached my waist, it was quite the useful device. "I dreamt of my family. It wasn't really anything in specific, they were all simply sitting around talking..."

"You're homesick," he stated with a tone of clear disapproval. I shook my head to refute it.

"No, it's not that," I stated, frowning in thought.

I know that most people in this situation would be concerned about getting back home, or if they even could get back home. And of course with this worry comes the despair of thinking that one might not ever see their loves one's again, but... I wasn't having this problem. Mainly because this was my mechanism with dealing with life ever since I was fifteen. I disassociated from my life as much as I could emotionally, and disconnected from the events of the day to day by simply not mulling things over too much and numbing my mind with television.

Therefore, I wasn't allowing myself to think about either my family, nor allowing myself to really confront the reality that I'm stuck in another world and more specifically in a room. I suppose you could say that I was treating this like a vacation, or a dream that simply wouldn't end... a quite boring dream.

"I think it's the fact that... I'm _not_ feeling homesick. Do you know what I mean?" I asked as I turned to look at him. At his look, which was kind of look you give someone when you think they're a blithering idiot, I went on. "It's like... my subconscious is trying to remind me that I _have_ a family, and _should_ be thinking of them."

Snape nodded, as he continued to stare at me. Although, at least he wasn't looking at me like I was an idiot anymore. He was just looking at me like I was a specimen under a microscope.

"Anyway, I guess now I am thinking about my family, but I don't really miss them," I said, feeling uncomfortable under the intense, dark stare and turning away to stare once more at the fireplace.

Okay, so here is where things get a bit dodgy. I know that it's a Mary-Sue indicator, but I don't have what most would regard as a normal, healthy "family life".

Although, this seems strictly unfair. I don't think that should be an indicator of a Mary-Sue as I think that dysfunction in the family is fairly common. I just think that a lot of authors don't know how to portray it. I think where they all go awfully awry with it is, that they give the character every single, worst possible scenario in their background, and make the character than go about their days like they are perfect and really untouched.

...I think the problems in my family all boil down to one factor, alcohol. Which of course spawns an array of other issues and drama that I've dealt with all my life. Being of Irish and Mexican descent, that's perhaps a bit of a given... like Catholicism.

While there have been a lot of problems I had to deal with while growing up, I can't say that I've never been happy. Or that there weren't periods of time, where everything was peace, love and security. In fact, most of my childhood was happy.

But I can't say either, that the problems in my family left me unaffected. But... I think that I turned out fairly well adjusted. Sure I had your typical troubled phase in my teens (though considering I'm an introvert-nerd prone to creativity, it wasn't outwardly manifested), and there are still some issues that I still deal with today, but it's an ongoing process.

"It's not that I don't love my family... I do. It's just that... I live at home and I'm a bit of a hermit. I don't work, or go to school, and all my friends are too busy to even talk to me... and lately my family has been having a rough patch," I explain, not sure why I was telling him. I guess after reading the books, I just feel familiar enough with him to share, knowing that he might understand. "There was nowhere for me to run to get away from all the stress... and even if I could run...

"Family loyalty has been so ingrained in to me that even if I could get away, I don't think I'd be able to. I've wanted to get out for so long... and now it's like... I'm free."

**TBC...**


	5. Don't Call Me Girl

**Prompt:** Sprawl (#75)

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 5:**_

_**Don't Call Me Girl, Amongst Other Things**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 7**

I have officially been here for a week. But I'm not panicking. Definitely not panicking. I just have to keep myself distracted. Which unfortunately, isn't particularly easy, considering that there isn't much to do.

However, I have made a new discovery. As I have been showering daily, which of course means I have to change the robes I have to damnably (damnably because none of them quite fit my petite size particularly well) wear on a daily basis, I have realized that I don't seem to run out of robes to wear.

Why? Because the robes I have worn get replaced in the next day or so back into the wardrobe, freshly laundered apparently. And they _are_ the same robes.

So okay, this may not be the most exciting development, or even remotely cool, but I'm guessing this means that I could get my bra and muggle clothes laundered! Which of course, I confirmed by looking for my panties I came with, in the drawer where all the other panties are. And you can't tell me that they're not mine because the sassy "Bite Me" written in black Old English block on the rear of my purple bikini bottoms makes them distinctive enough.

Certainly quite different than the other bikini bottoms in the drawer, as they are all made of cotton and in pale, sedate colors like white, pastel pink, pale blue and so forth.

Honestly, who is this room providing clothes for? An old lady? Or a twelve-year-old girl? Can't a girl get some freaking lace, spandexy yoga underwear, boy shorts, thongs, pieces with ribbons? Although, I suppose there isn't really a point. I mean, who the hell is going to see them but me? And at least these plain cotton things are comfortable, can't go wrong with comfortable, really.

**Day 8**

So since I've been here (trying not to contemplate how long exactly), Snape and I have fallen into a bit of a routine. It goes something like this:

I wake around noon (which for me is relatively early) and eat breakfast (well breakfast for me). Snape is usually up about this time, sometimes his hair looking a bit damp and perhaps not as greasy as usual which I assume means that at whatever time he wakes at is when he showers.

Between lunch and dinner, activity varies from reading, pacing and arguing. The latter of course mostly performed by Snape and the portrait. Although, Portrait Dumbledore doesn't argue so much as smile and nod, which I think only aggravates Snape more. I tend to stick my nose out of these things.

After dinner, I usually take the time to have my own shower, as I've always tended to shower at night. I'm not sure why that is. Partially it's always been because I tend to prefer to wear my hair a bit long, and because of it's medium-thickness, it takes FOREVER to dry, which is why I don't wash it every day.

I'm not sure what exactly Severus is doing in the 40-60 minutes it takes me to shower. However, afterwards we usually both settle down to read. I on the bed, and Severus on the couch.

Surprisingly, Snape is usually asleep before one. I on the other hand, tend to sleep later. Usually somewhere between three and five in the morning. Although, since I've been here I've been going to sleep closer to three. I think this is mostly caused by the poor-lighting, as it means I'm not allowed to do much else but lay in bed staring at the high-ceiling.

However, yesterday this routine was somewhat disrupted.

I took a bit of a spill, horrifyingly embarrassing as that is. You see, after lunch yesterday, I was once more perusing the shelves of books while Snape was standing before the portrait and having a surprisingly civilized and hushed conversation with one Albus Dumbledore.

Anyway, as the room has high ceilings, these shelves of course go very high and I was particularly interested in what might be in the books that are not remotely near my eye-level. Why? I have no idea. Suppose it's just something do with human nature and our curiosity for the things unknown.

As the bookshelves are so high, there is one of those rolling ladders attached to the bookcase that reach all the way to the top, so without much thought I mounted them and climbed to the top, not really paying attention to how high I was going. After perusing for a while, careful to keep one hand firmly gripped to the side of the ladder, I started picking out books I wanted to peruse more in depth and piling them on the top wrung.

I had a good five books when I decided that I should take them down. In hindsight, I should have asked Severus for help, but at the time, I hadn't really wanted to bother him. Considering his often condescending attitude and the fact that he tended to be foul tempered, I certainly wasn't going to attempt barking up that tree. Besides, I tend to be a bit more shy when it comes to asking questions or asking for help. Not to mention, I feel wildly independent at times, so that I often prefer to do things on my own.

So of course, what happened was probably logical and avoidable, but it happened nonetheless. Tucking the books securely under my arm, and holding onto the ladder with my right hand, I slowly started my descent. What I did not anticipate, however, was the robes causing me a problem. As soon as I took that first step down, my foot snagged on the back of the robes, which on my petite form were slightly too long.

A gasp of surprise was the only noise Snape got as warning before the thud of my body hitting the ground, followed by the thunk of several books falling beside me, one particular tome clipping me on my hip.

The pain of course, was excruciating and for a moment I couldn't breathe. I suppose that's not surprising when considering I fell about fifteen feet or perhaps more onto a stone floor. Although, I couldn't really say how far exactly I fell as I'm horrible with measurements. It's probably why I can't cook and would be a disaster where Potions are concerned.

I lay sprawled there for several minutes, too afraid to move, but all the while wanting to coil on my side while I continued to struggle to get the air back in my lungs. My head was throbbing and I could hardly see Severus, who had rushed over to me immediately. He was saying something at the time, but considering I was putting all my concentration on my breathing and trying not to focus on the pain in my head which at some point I'd cradled between my hands, I don't know what he was saying.

"Do you think you could move?" was the first thing my head could wrap around that he said.

"Oh fridge!" I muttered in my kid-friendly cursing, as I tried to shift on my side. My head was still throbbing, but that took a back seat to the pain all along my back. As I'm rather slender, there wasn't much cushioning for my bones when they struck the stone floor and every joint and bone felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to each one.

"What were you thinking?" Snape had asked, sounding considerably ill-tempered even though he wasn't the one who'd just fallen on their back after dropping off the ladder.

I didn't respond to him at this, merely chose to glare at him as I struggled into a sitting position. Apparently deeming that I had not broken anything vital if I could do this, and disregarding anything else, Snape jerked forward and picked me up.

I am embarrassed to say, a little shriek of surprise had ripped form my throat as he hoisted me up in his arms and carried me bridal style to the bed. It was followed by moans of pain as my back protested being touched and jostled. However, the trip was rather quick.

"Merlin girl, don't you eat? You weight like a feather," Snape commented under his breath as he carried me to the bed and deposited me there, more gently than I expected.

I then glared up at him from my now seated position as I tried to massage the back of my head as if that would alleviate the pain.

"You're one to talk, you look like a scarecrow," I retorted.

I've always been a bit sensitive with my weight. I've always been slender, even when I was a small child. In my teens, when all I wanted was an actual rack and... well a more womanly figure, I had been very self-conscious about how skinny I was. I didn't like people telling me I was skinny, I got that all the time wherever I went and I felt resentful of it because it wasn't something I could help. I simply couldn't put on weight, I'm assuming because of a high metabolism rate and my genes.

Now that I'm in my twenties, I find that while I'm still slender, my figure has changed slightly. My hips are a little wider then I recall them being when I was a teenager and while my breast and ass have always been proportional to my petite size, they have grown slightly in the last several years. I am proud to say that I no longer wear size zero and fit into a size five. (Using American sizes for jeans here, though I think they still vary.)

For his part, given his height, Snape is really quite thin. Like I said, sooooo not Alan Rickman. His bone and facial structure is just different. The only thing they had in common is the nose, perhaps the lips a bit, and the dark hair and eyes. But this Snape, is quite slender and his face a bit gaunt, not so much that he looks like he's starved, but definitely thin. Although, he doesn't look the scrawny skinny of a teen. He does seem like he has some muscles to him, hidden in his robes.

"And I'm not one of your students, so don't call me girl," my age of course is another sore point with me. The whole, always being assumed to be younger than I am. It's not that I want to be looked at like I'm older or want to be older, but I at least wanted to be looked at like I'm twenty-two.

"You're not much older than my students. Now lay down, on your stomach. I want to assess the damage," he instructed rather coldly.

I acquiesced, despite my wariness of this situation. Of course, I was right to be wary as next thing I knew, I could feel his fingers unbuttoning the buttons at the back of my robes after pushing my hair aside.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked indignantly, trying to shift away from him. However, he had firmly gripped me by the shoulder and pinned me down. I could feel my cheeks heating in anger and humiliation at this. However, once more this was overcome by the ache all over my back.

"How else am I supposed to evaluate the damage, without looking directly at the affected area?" Snape snapped in return and... well you really can't argue with that logic.

Much to my embarrassment, I merely grit my teeth and shut up as he continued to unbutton all the little buttons on the back of the blasted robes I was wearing.

"How did you even manage to button these up without assistance?" Snape asked in confusion. In any other circumstance, I would have found it amusing, but considering the man was now staring at the bare skin of my back and touching it gingerly, prodding to see it anything felt out of place, I wasn't.

That isn't to say that, barring the fact my back hurt too much to enjoy, this had never featured in one of my fantasies. I mean... Snape is kind of sexy, both the man I met, Alan Rickman's interpretation of him, and the man from the books we all so love.

"I slipped them over my head," I said with a shrug, which I regretted because of the pain that ricocheted down my back.

"If I had my wand, I could simply run a diagnostic spell," Snape said as he stood up from he had perched on the edge of the bed, turned slightly towards me so he could work. "At least this just appeared on your bedside. It should help speed the healing and alleviate some of the pain."

I had only just turned my neck so I could see Snape, when I saw what he was talking about. There was a tin can with some kind of balm in it which he proceeded to apply liberally on my back.

It was an odd sensation to say the least, but imagine it was the wizarding worlds equivalent to icy-hot. Only much better as I was actually able to get up and about today. There is still some soreness, but I'm guessing it's not as bad as it actually _should_ be.

I still had to spend the remainder of the day and night in bed. No shower for me, but Snape was nice enough to bring me food to my bed so I could eat.

I guess that the fall really took it out of me, as I went to sleep early that night. I'm quite sure even Snape was still awake when I finally drifted off.

As a result of falling asleep early, I awoke early today. Found out, Snape does take his showers in the morning. He takes them at freaking six in the morning! Also, I actually had breakfast today, perhaps for the first time in years.

Well... my hand now hurts from writing so I shall endeavor to write some more later. Though, I doubt that anymore excitement will be due.

**TBC...**

**A/n:** Please review if anyone is actually reading this?


	6. Much Ado About Nothing

**A/n:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad some of you are enjoying the story. I was afraid it might be a bit boring. And I'm sorry about the lack of romance but as I said, slow burner.

**Prompt: **Shakespeare (#51)

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 6:**_

_**Much Ado About Nothing**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 9 (Morning, astonishingly enough)**

I've always had this idea that... if you spent too much time with a person you loved you'd get sick of them, and the love you felt for them... well it wouldn't quite be as intense or even as present in mind, as it may have once been. Being only twenty-two and having a grand total of two "serious" relationships (one of which took the expanse of high school), I had yet to actually live with someone. Someone other than my parents, that is, and given that sometimes I really couldn't wait to get away from them and spent most of my time locked in my room... moving in with someone was never high on my list of priorities.

Moving out of home was. But that idea pretty much went into the crapper because, being somewhat anti-social in nature, and not finishing college, and without mentioning the economy, I couldn't get a job. And obviously, having no job means having no money. Which means I couldn't afford to move out of home.

So why am I ruminating over this?

Because against all odds, I was living with someone. And despite that person being fictional... it was someone I loved. Granted, it probably wouldn't count as the romantic sort of love, seeing as he is FICTIONAL. Or well... _was_ fictional, prior to this little misadventure. Which can't be labeled an adventure at all!

(Which reminds me of a song I'm rather fond of.

_Los Malaventurados No Lloran_. It's spanish for: the misadventured don't cry. Great song, at least in my opinion. It's by a band called Panda. Sometimes spelled Pxndx.)

Anyway, back on point.

Oddly enough, I'm not sick of Snape. Despite his less than sunny disposition, and despite the fact that he tried to keep me bedridden yesterday even though, barring some soreness in my back, I was feeling perfectly fine. Although, perhaps he could bare to be a bit more sociable, being as we only have each other and a damn portrait for company.

What I am sick of, though, is this room. I may have never been much of an outdoosy person, and perhaps I rarely left my room, but even I needed to change my surroundings every once in a while.

**Day 9 (Afternoon)**

Snape noticed that I was reading Shakespeare today. It was the large tome that fell and hit me on the hip two days ago. I still have a big nasty bruise there, seeing as I Snape wasn't aware that I was injured there, and besides it was on my hip, nowhere near as platonic as my back.

"You like Shakespeare then?" he'd asked, much to my surprise. At the time, I was rereading Much Ado About Nothing (perhaps my favorite comedy), curled up on an armchair. Being as I was able to get out of bed today and shower, I had opted for foregoing the use of robes and was back in my own t-shirt and shorts, now that they were laundered. There was no way in hell I was going to willingly put on oversized robes again!

"Yes... though I may have a bit of a predisposition for it. My mother's a fan, obviously," I replied.

"Why should that be obvious?" he asked, arching a brow and dropping his own book in his lap as he looked over at me with a somewhat quizzical expression.

"Because she named me Ophelia, after the girl who drowns in Hamlet," I retorted with slight agitation. I never quite could get over the fact that my mother named me after someone who was insane and who might have killed herself by drowning. But then my mother's the morbid sort, hence her particularly enjoyment of Shakespeare's tragedies. For my part, I rather liked his lighter stuff. Not to mention the Sonnets.

Also, I never really felt much like an Ophelia. Whenever I've read Hamlet, I've always pictured a very pale skinned girl, with skin like milk or snow and hair long and wavy, the color of grain. Although... Helena Bonham Carter _did_ portray Ophelia, if memory does serve. And she'd kind of got the trademark for that wild, crazy, mane of dark hair of hers. Why she was chose to play Bellatrix Lestrange, other than the fact that she is uber awesome, is a bit beyond me. I mean... Bellatrix had straight, black hair.

But then again, they totally effed up Narcissa Malfoy in looks for the film as well. I mean... she's a blonde in the books... not someone with a skunk hairdo. Why they decided to do that, for someone who is supposed to be the like height of Pureblood society, is beyond me. They kind of went and turned her into Cruella. Who, in my opinion at least from Disney's animated classic, she seemed a bit trashy. Glenn Close in the live-action movie at least gave her class. Though... Roger from the cartoon was kind of hot, wasn't he? Especially when he was singing the Cruella Deville song. Or maybe that's just me (I do have a track record for liking the weirdest fictional dudes, present company included).

And... I have now gone completely off topic. Sorry. In case you haven't noticed yet... I sometimes have a bit of a problem with focus.

"I see," he replied merely, before going on rather sardonically. "And here I thought my mother hated _me_ for naming me Severus."

"Maybe she simply had high expectations for you? Isn't Severus the name of a Roman emperor?" I asked with a shrug. He didn't reply to this, not that I expected him to, so I went on. "Well, I like your name. It's pretty unique and it just rolls off the tongue. If I had a son, I'd name him Severus. Though perhaps not as a first name."

Amusingly enough, this had him flushing scarlet. Unfortunately, it also had the added effect of terminating the conversation.

I wonder what he'd have thought if I told him that if I named a son Severus, it would have been after _him_.

Yes... my love of his character did run that deep.

Don't judge me.

**Day 10**

This morning, I caught Snape looking through the large tome of Shakespeare's collective works. He was either too engrossed in the text, or I have become ninja-like in my moves (impossible), that he didn't notice when I crept up behind him and looked over his shoulder. He was reading where I left off on Much Ado About Nothing.

I couldn't help smiling from where I stood, reading over his shoulder and was about to say that I sort of pictured him as Benedick, when I froze. I had turned to look at him, when something caught my eye in the dim light. There was something on his neck, just peaking over the edge of the high-neck of his robes and only slightly obscured by his black hair, that in such close proximity I was able to catch a glimpse of it.

I think something in my mind knew what it was, before my conscious mind caught up, as all of a sudden my heart had started to race. Before I could stop myself or even think about what I was doing, my hands had pulled down the neck of his robes.

I only caught sight of it for a split-second, because as soon as I had laid a finger on him he had jumped out of the seat and away form me. But that second was enough. A gasp had escaped my throat and I stumbled back, my hands moving to my mouth, while the image burned in my retinas.

His neck looked like it had been mangled!

"What the hell are you doing?" he had bellowed at me. But I couldn't bring myself to be scared about his anger. I was freaking out! I mean... if Snape has such a ghastly scar on his neck, that means he's ben bitten by Nagini. Which means he's supposed to be dead. And what could it possibly mean that I'm interacting with a dead person?

Which unfortunately is what escaped my mouth, the whole him being dead bit. Apparently when you're freaking out, you can say goodbye to your filter.

"What?" Snape yelled, befuddled and angry.

"You're supposed to be dead! You've been bitten! Nagini's bite is supposed to kill you. That's what happens in the books!" I yelled, backing up. And of course, there went my whole complicated story.

Unfortunately, the next several hours are a bit of a blur. After that, I vaguely recall shutting myself in the bathroom before Snape could think of how to react, and curled into a ball in the farthest corner of the room. I'm not sure how long exactly I was there, with my head buried between my propped up knees, my hands pressing into my ears as I shut my eyes tight and rocked back and forth, trying to shut out Snape's banging on the locked door

Snape made it a little hard to think, with all the banging he was doing, and it certainly wasn't helping whatever little nervous break I was going through.

I'm not sure why I allowed myself to get so worked up about it. I'm not entirely certain what I was so afraid of. I think it was the idea that Snape was supposed to be dead, and the fact that I was trapped somewhere with him had me thinking that I must be dead too and trapped in some kind of limbo. Which honestly, wasn't so far fetched considering the the time I spent in the "Room of Requirement" couldn't be quite quantified as either heaven or hell. It didn't help either that the days leading up to waking here were completely wiped from my memory and I couldn't really recall the last thing I'd done before in my own life, before I'd ended up here.

But then... I think my rational mind must have kicked in at some point. If I was in fact in some kind of "in between world" like in the Lovely Bones, or in some kind of version of purgatory, or something similar, than... would Snape even be there considering he's supposed to be a fictional character from a children's book series? And more to the point, if Snape were dead, why would the wound that caused his death, be healed?

By the time I could bring myself to get to my feet and exit the bathroom, Snape had already stopped beating on the door and yelling through it for me to explain myself. A good thing really, because if he was still going at the damn sturdy door like a madman, I might never have come out at all.

Dusk had fallen by the time I stepped out of the bathroom. I'd missed breakfast at least, a fact that my stomach rather resented. However, I hardly stepped a foot outside of the room when Snape'd hand caught mine and dragged me over towards the sitting area before the Fireplace, demanding that I explain myself.

So of course, this is when the whole story poured forth. You know, the fact that I was born in 1990, a muggle by their standards. That I was so familiar with their world, based on a fictional series I started reading, ironically enough when I was eleven, about Harry Potter and his school years and all the adventured that entailed. I even had to outline each and every book, given as many details as I could remember. Which is a lot, considering the fact that I read the series a few times and watched the movies more than once.

I didn't finish telling them everything until very late at night. In fact, as I sit and write this, it might be Day 11 for all I know.

I'm rather exhausted, and after spilling out my guts, I'm not sure how I'm still sitting here writing this. Perhaps it's the fact that I can't sleep because of Snape watching me so contemptuously; I've become paranoid he might try to smother me in my sleep. This is of course all thanks to the whole Prince's Tale chapter... I had to reveal that bit too, much to my chagrin. Snape was of course, not appreciative.

But at least the entire encounter set my mind at ease in one way. Either I'm not in JK Rowling's world, or she got her "facts" wrong. Apparently, Nagini's bite didn't kill Snape. Miraculously enough, he managed to hold onto the end of the battle and got the "medical" attention he needed.

So I'm not dead, I guess. Load off my back, that is.

Guess I freaked out over nothing.

Unfortunately, this has all set me back with Snape. If he'd had any trust in me at all, you can bet the bank he hasn't got any at all _now_.

**TBC...**


	7. Cold Shoulder or Something Like That

**A/n: **Thank you to all those who reviewed. I appreciate the feedback.

**Prompt:** Resumed the Backtrack (#31)

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 7:**_

_**Cold Shoulder or Something Like That**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 11 (Afternoon)**

Snape is being an insufferable a-hole. Granted he's a bit of an a-hole on the regular, but... I suppose this is him at his worst.

I have decided that in spite of his nasty attitude and the fact that my temper isn't the best, I'm going to ignore his existence. I mean really, there is no point rising to his bait. That's simply going to get exhausting, fast.

**Day 12**

My ignore-Snape plan is working... at least, I haven't risen to his bait _yet_. I'm sure it's only a matter of time. Something that might make this plan go more swimmingly would be my iPod, but being as it's 1998, I suppose that would be too much to ask for. That is of course assuming the iPod is even going to be created in this dimension. Who knows, for all I know I could simply be in the past. I mean, at this point (after what's happened) I'm not beyond believing that perhaps the Harry Potter world was real.

I spent the majority of yesterday altering the robes by shortening their length (I have the back-ache from being hunch over to prove it), as I can't very well wear my boxer shorts and t-shirt every day. The Room was kind enough to provide scissors, and you know... the other necessities for sewing. Being as I wouldn't be able to make heads or tails out of a sewing machine (as I'm not a very domestic person), this consists of thread and needles.

As I only have the most basic of knowledge where sewing is concerned, and I have no particular talent for it, it was a very slow going and maddening process. I spent most of the time seated at the table and mumbling curses every time I pricked my finger or couldn't get the thread through the little loop in the needle. It took me most of the damn afternoon to get through three robes! (And of course, Snape seemed to take advantage of every second by slipping in his little snide remarks.)

Today... I shall have to continue the torture. (With Snape's unnecessary commentary too, probably.)

At least all this sewing provides a change in the routine, and a new activity so that I'm not going completely bonkers with the lack of anything to do but read and walk around in circles.

**Day 13 (After dinner)**

I have defeated the vile robes today!

It was exhausting and a hard wrought battle, but it is done! And their not half-bad, if I do say so myself. Most of the robes now fall to just beneath my knees.

Except for one, which comes to about mid-thigh because I didn't bother to measure the length before I went and started cutting it. By the time I thought about it, it was too late. But their not any shorter than my boxers so... suppose it's not like their indecent. And it's not like Snape hasn't seen more than a bit of skin from me, I mean he's seen me in the shorts already and had to look at my back because of that little fall a few days ago.

Speaking of Snape, I think my ignoring his barbs is actually getting to _him_. It would be amusing, if he wasn't being such an ass towards me and it's not like ignoring him is actually easy. I'm actually surprised I haven't snapped yet. But it is probably only a matter of time.

**Day 13 (Still)**

You know what I've just realized? Snape's gangly build is highly reminiscent of actor Timothy Omundson, from Psych. So if you want to know how tall he is, and how slender, there you go. Even the long, pretty hands are reminiscent. (Timothy Omundson has sexy hands; it's a fact. I don't care if I'm weird for saying so.)

Although, Snape's hands have stains on them, not unlike the mad-hatter from Alice in Wonderland. You know the one where Johnny Depp played the mad-hatter but looks like Elijah Wood in the movie posters. At least, I think he did.

**Day 14 (Morning)**

I woke up quite early today thanks to a somewhat steamy dream I was having that involved one Severus Snape. Not the first one I've ever had, but certainly the first one I've had since sleeping in close quarters with the man.

It would be highly awkward, if I were still talking to man. But I'm still giving him the "cold shoulder".

Now... is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Or has it simply been far too long since I've gotten off?

I'm going to assume that it's the latter. After all it's been, at the very least, two weeks since I've even... how do I put this tactfully and in a pg-13 friendly way? Flicked the bean? Double-clicked the mouse? (The latter term I read in a fanfiction. Can't remember which, at the moment, but I remember it being highly amusing. I loved it.)

I mean, it's not exactly like I have the privacy to... take care of my needs as the bed is by no means shielded from view. I could of course take care of this in the shower, or in the bath, but since I don't partake of the latter, the shower is really the only option. As for the shower... well I just don't think I could manage it standing up.

I wonder if Snape is having this issue. Does the man even... have a working libido? I mean... surely just because he's been in love his whole life with Lily, who died when they were... well my age, doesn't mean that he'd remained... pure and innocent in that aspect, does it?

Surely not. I mean the man is like... what? Nearly forty?

Wow... I never really thought about it in that way before. Seems so odd that he's nearly twenty years older than me... I've never really thought of it since I've always pictured him perpetually in his thirties, which somehow doesn't seem as... old.

Anyway... the forty-year-old virgin is just a movie. In real life, it would probably be a medical miracle for a man to be a virgin so long. And by that point, if it he were a virgin, it's pretty much guaranteed that he'd die a virgin. Not to mention, it would probably be indicative of some really, deeply seeded issues.

I probably shouldn't be thinking about this. After all, it isn't like I'm going to get the answer, especially with the man being a complete ass to me. Honestly, how long is he going to take to get over it? It's not like I had any control over this situation.

If we'd made any progress at all, now it feels like we are just moving backwards.

**TBC...**


	8. The Possibility of a Doppelganger

**A/n:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed lately. You guys are awesome! I'm sorry this chapter has taken me a while. V_V Kind of been fitful lately about my writing.

**Prompt:** Spitting Image (#28)

**~X~x~X~**

**Confessions of a Harry Potter Geek**

_**Chapter 8:**_

_**The Possibility of a Doppelganger**_

**~X~x~X~**

**Day 14 (After lunch)**

Holy crap nuggets! And before you read further, beware then that this entry is befouled by the ailments that come with womanhood (what a delight it is!).

So I've just realized (perhaps because I was in denial, and didn't want it to be true or simply because I wasn't certain), but I haven't had my period. And well, I can't remember exactly when I last had it, but it must be due. I mean mine has never exactly been particularly punctual, it's always running late or coming inconveniently early, sometimes not even paying a visit at all (what scary occasions those have been.. well at least when there is a reason to fear why it has _not come_), but it mus the about that time.

Which I'm sure I wouldn't have completely forgotten, if it had not dawned on me until this moment, that the pains I've been having in my lower abdomen since this morning aren't my imagination. Which can really only mean one thing.

My period will probably be making it's appearance in the next couple days. Three tops.

In the meantime, I will be delightfully be dealing with cramps, which will probably increase in intensity. Dull headaches that last ALL BLOODY DAY. And of course, the inevitable spotting, which is a problem as I don't have pantyliners.

Now how on earth do I bring up this rather delicate matter to Snape?!

**Day 14 (Later)**

So the fallowing is a direct dialogue from a conversation (argument) with one Severus Snape... to the best of my memory:

"I need to ask you... something," I debated on whether or not to use the word favor. I decided against it, as I rather doubted it would make him at all inclined to listen. When he didn't bother to look up from the book he was oh so diligently reading, I went on, my voice louder so as to make it difficult for him to ignore me, "I have a bit of a... dilemma."

"And this concerns me how," delivered with all the nastiness he could muster, and then some. Still without looking up which further irritated me.

At the time, all I could do was grit my teeth as I struggled to think of something to say. Unfortunately, the only thing that exploded from my mouth was... and even more loudly, too, "What is your problem with me?"

"Only that you are a lying, conniving, manipulative little-" while saying this, he did actually deign to look upon me, but it was with a set glare and a look of mild disgust on his face.

"I'm not a liar!" I'm not entirely sure why I said that... it sounded so stupid and childish to my ears. I regretted it almost immediately after it left my mouth, especially at the smug, ironic look he served me. But before he could say anything, I went on rather quickly, "I never lied about anything. It isn't my fault that _you_ made assumptions!"

"Assumptions you didn't bother to correct," he hissed, rising to his feet and towering over me. "In case you were not aware, a lie of omission is _still_ a _lie_."

"Then by your standards everyone in the world is a liar," and for the most part, I whole-heartedly agree with this statement. Everybody lies. That doesn't mean there aren't honest people in the world. Though I believe they may make some of the world's worst liars, honest folk I mean. "And what's the big deal? Doesn't change anything does it? I still can't do magic, and we're still stuck in this room together. No harm, no foul."

"You don't honestly think that I believe that tripe, do you?" Snape asked, sneeringly.

I can honestly say, that this completely bewildered me. "Why wouldn't you? What person in their right mind would claim to be from another universe when all it could possibly earn them is a one-way trip to the loony bin? And how could I even be lying? How else would I possibly know all that I knew?"

Snape appeared honestly stumped by this question, but he recovered far too quickly.

"You could be a legillimens-"

"With the power to see through you when even the Voldemort couldn't?"

Snape flinched at his name, but didn't hiss out a threat to not say his name as I would have expected. Instead he swooped closer to me.

"You could be a seer, you could be some kind of spy... I don't know exactly how you know all that you do, but I know that you're a lying-"

"You can do legillimency yourself! You know when someone is lying to you! Surely you know I'm not lying!" By this point, I was getting extremely irritated.

"I know you're lying!"

"W- HOW?!"

"Because I've seen you before!" he barked. By this point, we were standing so close to each other, Snape bent down so close to my face, that I could feel his hot-breath on my skin. If he'd been firing spittle from his mouth, I would have felt that too, but luckily Snape wasn't quite frothing at the mouth out of anger. Though perhaps he was getting close.

"What?" I asked, my heart skipping a beat. This tid-bit seemed to refuse to compute in my mind, though my head started to shake slowly before my brain finally caught up with what he said. "That's not possible," I went on, my voice more subdued and having grown quiet... so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"Your face... it's familiar to me. I've seen you somewhere before, I'm not sure where exactly, but I _will_ remember and when I do-"

"You're wrong! It's possible I must just have one of those faces... besides... don't you know that everyone has a double out there somewhere?"

And it's completely possible. After all, my mother is almost the spitting image of one of her brothers. And they both look almost extremely similar to my grandfather, of course only with small differences. As for myself, I've been confused for one of my cousins once, and people have told me that if I cut my hair boy-short, I'd look just like my little brother.

And genetics aside, people used to tell me in high school that a girl on the soccer team looked just like me. Personally, I didn't see it. I mean apart from the skin-color, hair-color and the fact that we were somewhat the same height and build, I didn't think we looked at all alike. Perhaps at a distance people might confuse us, but that was about it.

"We'll see. I will remember," he said quietly, his eyes intense and burning me before he turned away form me.

After that, I sort of forgot what I wanted to talk to him about. My mind was a bit preoccupied because no matter how much I tried to rationalize or find some sort of explanation, I still felt a little unsettled. I mean... it is strange enough to think that somewhere in the world, there might be an eight year old me... it is stranger to think that there is also someone that looks so identical to me, that Snape is damn positive that I am that person.

Is it possible?

It can't be, can it?

… But then, me being in the Harry Potter world isn't either and... well, look at me now.

**Day 15**

I've just recalled another rather unfortunately symptom of my period. Actually I'm not sure it's quite a symptom of PMS, as it usually occurs before and during my period and I'm not sure it's actually considered a symptom. However, it is something that usually accompanies my period and the couple days leading up to it.

And that would be... a rather exacerbated libido.

This is sure to be fun. (Sarcasm there.)

I wonder if I could convince Snape to _help_ me with _it_.

…

I just giggled myself silly there... earning myself a dark look from Snape. Must make note not to laugh, and to the point of barely being able to breathe, at random points for not apparent reason... it makes people think you're crazy.

**TBC...**


End file.
